


French Fries and The Rain

by amelie_drinking_tea



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelie_drinking_tea/pseuds/amelie_drinking_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott could be so honest and pure sometimes, and in Stiles's childish mind, that realization wasn't yet clear in words and thoughts, but in a feeling that twisted inside him, letting him know how much that boy standing there meant to him.<br/>Maybe he could, some day, come to deserve that love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles wanted it bad. And that's how things get out of hand, isn't it? That's how people get their hearts broken.

He was eleven the first time he realized he needed Scott's approval more than anything in the whole world. Mrs. Jones had told them to write a composition on the things they thought mattered the most to them. One of those silly assignments teachers ask kids to do when they can't think of anything better to grade them on. It wasn't Mrs. Jones's lack of creativity to blame, though. It wasn't anything but Stiles' injured spirit, which was yet to be swept away.

“One of the most important things to me”, Stiles said, standing in front of the class, holding the crumpled piece of paper in one hand, trying as hard as he could not to sound as nervous as he felt, “is Burger King Coupons, because you can get two original chicken sandwiches and two small french fries for $4,99 and my dad thinks that's a great deal, so every weekend he takes me out for fries and we eat in the car and listen to Johnny Cash.”

There were some giggles, of course, followed by some shooshing from Mrs. Jones. Part of Stiles had meant for it to sound a bit funny, he couldn't resist it, but part of him knew that was actually the most honest thing he'd ever written on a school paper.

“Go on, Stiles.”, the teacher said, glancing at him, pitifully.

Stiles took a deep breath, taking a glimpse at Scott, who just smiled at him, earnestly.

“Burger King was founded in 1953 in Jacksonville, Florida. It has expanded from a basic offering of burgers, French Fries, sodas, and milkshakes to a larger set of product offerings. In 1957, the Whopper was the first major addition to the menu.” Stiles began to explain, proudly, as the students glanced at each other, confused. That didn't catch his attention at all, as he continued. “It has since become Burger King's signature product.”

He then began to describe, in detail, how the company had developed in the last fifty years, thanks to the golden age of advertising in the beggining of the 1970s, leaving a dumbstuck Mrs. Jones behind as he finished, thanked the class, and returned to his seat.

Not that he'd noticed the concerned and mild shock on her face. In his head, he had nailed it. It'd still take his father and the school board (and himself) a couple of years to actually realize his ADD.

Scott was up next and he seemed even more anxious than Stiles. He had always been a responsible student, always eager to please and do his best when it came to school assigments and sports. That obviously did not mean he always succeeded (he was a disaster, most of the times). It just made Stiles admire him a lot.

“Whenever you're ready, Mr. McCall.”, the teacher said, trying to get him going. Scott always felt a minor panic attack rising the first ten seconds in front of the class. He looked at Stiles, who gave him two thumbs up in encouragement.

“Ah, I… Yes, I… Yeah, the important thing, ahn, the most important thing for me is my mother because she makes me breakfast every morning and helps me with my Science homework even when she's worked two shifts and I know she's really tired. Ahn, and she lets me and Stiles play videogames till late on weekends.”

Stiles grinned at him at the mention of his name, winking playfully at his friend. Mrs. Jones seemed more than pleased with Scott's presentation and he went on about the other smaller things which meant something to him.

Later that same day, in Stiles' bedroom, Scott turned to him dead serious, putting his controller down in the middle of a game.

“I'm sorry.”

“What's the matter?” Stiles asked, turning his head to Scott and back to the screen, in confusion.

“About what I said in class, my composition.”

Stiles opened his mouth, just to find he had nothing to say, for a change.

“Dude, what are you talking about?” he asked, putting his own controller down. He always got antsy when Scott talked like that.

“I didn't mean to keep talking on and on about my mom, I mean, I know it's been less than a year since your mom...”

“Dude! Were you seriously freaking about that since this morning?” Stiles had the most incredulous look on his face.

“I-I.. didn't want to make you feel bad, that's all!”

“Dude!!” Stiles threw his hands in the air, shaking his head as he got up and started pacing around the room. “That… I don't even know what to tell you! Of course you didn't make me feel bad, I hadn't even thought about it till you said it just now!”

“Oh. Well, I'm glad, I mean…I also wanted to say I'm sorry I didn't mention you as one of the most important things in my life, I just thought it would be awkward, but… you know you're right on top of the list, right?” Scott asked, tentively, seeming really worried.

And that's when it hit Stiles. Right in the middle of a regular summer afternoon at the age of eleven.

He needed to hear that. That is, he didn't really _need_ to hear that, that was ridiculous, of course he knew he and Scott were best friends, of course he knew Scott liked him, of course he knew he mattered to him, he didn't have to say it to the whole freaking class.

Thing is, he needed Scott to say it _to him_. And he shouldn't feel that way, so vulnerable, so touched by his best friend's words. Scott could be so honest and pure sometimes, and in Stiles's childish mind, that realization wasn't clear in words and thoughts, but in a feeling that twisted inside him, letting him know how much that boy standing there meant to him.

Maybe he could, some day, come to deserve that love.

Stiles was on the verge of crying, which would be the most dreadful thing an eleven-year-old could do right in front of his buddy, for no apparent reason. As would going for a hug, for that matter.

So he did what seemed to be the safest course of action right then. He punched Scott in the arm, faking a laugh, right before taking a deep breath, pushing those tears back inside.

“Thanks, buddy! You're on my list of important things too. Right there with Burger King's fries.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles wanted it bad. And that's how you make a fool of yourself, isn't it?

“Yo, faggots! Go back to Math Club, where you belong!”

“That's actually quite ironic, Jackson, since I'm failing Math, but thanks for the tip!” Stiles shouted back at the group running before them. They were in the middle of an endurance test of some sort and Scott breathed heavily at the sight.

“Stiles, are you sure this is a good idea? You know I can't run like that, I'll be short of breath in less than a minute!”

“Bro, you worry way too much! Don't you trust me?” Stiles looked at him, pretending to be offended. He quite enjoyed seeing that concerned look on Scott's face. It made him feel like he could be the one to wipe away all his apprehension and fix all his problems.

That gave him a strange kind of pleasure, actually.

“I do trust you! More often than I should.”

“We are doing these try-outs, Scott. We are not leaving middle-school with the scarlet letter of “geekness” on our chests. Lacrosse is like cheerleading for dudes! I mean, popularity-wise. I don't mean it as in “guys can't be cheerleaders” or “girls can't play lacrosse”. Why can't girls be in the team, by the way? I totally think Lydia could be a lacrosse player. She could scare the opponents away with one glance? Wow, isn't it ridiculously clear how sexist sports are in this school when you stop to think about it? I mean-”

“Stiles! I know what you mean, ok? I'm sure Lydia could make the team. What I want to know is how _we_ could possibly make the team.”

“Oh, right.” Stiles, looked around, as if he were looking for someone in particular. After a few seconds of browsing through the crowd, he spotted a guy Scott recognized as one of Jackson's friends, or as Stiles called them, one of his “staff members”.

“Now you stay here and let me handle it. Don't worry about a thing. Oh. You brought your inhaler with you, right? I mean, just in case we need to elope.”

“Stiles!”

“Ok, ok! Don't worry! You won't need it! Promise!” Stiles walked back towards the guy as Scott followed him with restless eyes.

It hadn't been easy for Stiles to find out something on Ryan, specially considering they definitely did not hang out at the same places. However, he had made it his personal mission in life the moment Scott had told him nothing would made him happier than joining the lacrosse team once they started their freshman year.

He knew neither of them had what it took to make the team, even though he was more than certain Scott would try harder than anyone there to do a good job, so he'd come to the conclusion that he was gonna need to use his manipulative skills to achieve such predicament.

Meaning he was going to have to blackmail someone.

Which wasn't hard at all, since Stiles had been perfecing that skill for years. When you grow up always needing to explain stuff like why you detailed the entire history of the male circumcision on an economics test, you kinda develop a certain way with words.

After a bit of research, Stiles had found out Beacon Hills had installed a “buddy nomination” system for freshmen interested in sports. It basically consisted in allowing sophomores to pick guys to be on the bench even if they hadn't exactly excelled during try-outs.

Which was basically perfect.

“So, Ryan, ma boy, what's cooking?”

“Get off my face, geek.”

“I totally would, but you see, I think you can help me with a tiny little problem I'm having.”

Stiles felt a tight grip on his shirt as he was pushed back.

“Wow! Wow! Ryan, buddy, a man in your position shouldn't be looking for trouble like that!”

“The hell you're talking about, weirdo?”

“I just mean”, Stiles started, putting his hands up in defense, “I'm the sheriff's son, you know, so I'm quite familiar with teenage illegal behavior.”

Stiles knew that was a cheap shot, and he always thought resorting to that artifact was a huge dick move, but he had literally pulled an all nighter trying to think of a better solution than that one and came out with nothing. It had been a God-sent, really, to have forgotten his cell phone and walked back to the locker room at the exact moment Ryan and three of his friends were smoking a joint under the bleachers.

“Fine!” Ryan had told him, grunting, after Stiles' whole elucidation on the case. “The guys who already tried out all suck anyway… What difference will it make to have two idiots on the bench?”

So next thing you know, Stiles and Scott were on said bench, which was way better than expected, considering the huge amount of students who had tried out (seriously, Lacrosse was ridiculously popular in that school).

When he'd told Scott how they'd gotten in, the boy just looked at him as if he had just discovered the Earth was round.

“Stiles, I can't believe you did that for me! I'm gonna work extra hard to actually make the team now!”

And there it was. That earnest smile. Stiles didn't even have time to grasp what was happening inside his mind before he felt Scott's arms around him, hugging tight.

That wasn't a gesture that occurred often between them. Though they were very close and comfortable around each other, hugging just wasn't a thing 14-year-olds did frequently. So that came somewhat like a shock for Stiles. Not being hugged, which wasn't that big a deal at all, but realizing how brave Scott was. He wasn't scared of being thankful, and that for some reason, looked like the most beautiful thing Stiles had ever seen in his life.

It took him about five seconds to hug Scott back, so dumbstruck he felt, and that was enough to make him feel slightly awkward as they parted.

“Hey, don't mention it.” he replied, smirking. “On second thought, do mention it whenever you feel like it, I don't mind.”

“I will.” Scott said, grinning. “I'll randomly start our conversations with 'remember when you blackmailed Ryan and his minions into picking us for the team?'”

Stiles beamed.

Scott was happy, and he had made that happen. Through dubious means, that's true, but he'd do worse for Scott. Much worse, if needed. So much worse if Scott did as much as only want it.

He wasn't even sure he liked Lacrosse, but that seemed unimportant.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles wanted it bad. And that's why you should be careful what you wish for, right?

He thought he'd heard a thunder, even poked his head out the window to look for lightning, but the weather seemed clear outside, even bright, although it was almost half past nine.

Scott wasn't answering his phone and something twirled inside him. It's not like Scott was expected to answer right away whenever Stiles called or texted him, but… well, yeah, he kinda was. They didn't have many (or any) friends besides each other, so that wasn't even Stiles being an entitled ass, those were facts. Hence his need to sneak out and find out what was keeping Scott busy.

He'd heard his dad talking on the phone about a dead body in the woods. _Half_ a dead body in the woods, to be more precise. How was on Earth was he supposed to just let that one slide? He wanted, no, he _needed_ to tell Scott all about it, and they simply had to go check it out.

Scott, obviously, being who he was and all, so sensible it _hurt_ , wasn't sure that was such a great idea, but tagged along, because that's what he did. He'd follow Stiles to hell and back with just a little bit of complaining and panting and gasping for air. Stiles wasn't sure why or how he'd gained that kind of trust. He wasn't sure he'd done anything, really, to gain it. That bothered him a little from time to time, like he was just waiting for the moment to lose it forever.

“I don't know about this, Stiles… Should we be here? It feels kinda wrong...”

“Well, it ain't right, I'll give you that. If the huge 'No entry after dark' sign is anything to go for... but dude, you're the one always bitching that nothing happens in this town!”

“Yeah, I know, but… wait!” Scott pulled Stiles by his hoodie midway into the preserve. “What if the guy they're looking for is still out there?”

“Scott, why are you such a buzzkill all the time?”

“Someone has to. Besides, do you know what would happen if something came out of these woods and I had to beat retreat?”

“What, little red riding hood?”

“I'd die because I can't run for shit. You know that.”

“Hey, don't worry, my little ashmatic friend.” Stiles answered, placing both hands in Scott's shoulders, while getting really close and whispering dramatically. ''I'll shield you.”

Scott scoffed, pushing him aside, the beginning of a smile on the corner of his lips.

Those are the moments people call “ironic” and Stiles wishes he didn't know so much about literary devices. He wishes he hadn't said that to Scott that night because it still haunted him, even after all this time. He wishes and regrets so many fucking things when it comes to them. But mostly, he wishes he could somehow turn back time and say “You know what, Scott? You're right. You're always right. Even when you're wrong. And that's actually the most supernatural thing about you.”

Changing was gradual after Scott got bitten that night. Not the super strenght and speed or the ability to sense danger and smell stuff. That came to him pretty fast. What was gradual wasn't the physical change he went through. And that was what became lethal to both of them.

But Stiles realized it first, as it always happened. Starting with Scott's lack of self-preservation all of a sudden. Stiles was the one to take the risks and he thought deep deep down that's what made him special to Scott. They could do all those crazy little things they wanted because Stiles would always be there to say “we can”.

Now Scott would do them anyway, not matter how life-threatening his decisions were. So, without any of them actually noticing, they had changed roles.

And that scared Stiles.

But he wasn't going anywhere, not because it hadn't crossed his mind he was completely useless to Scott now (that had been on his mind for years before the bite), but because he simply couldn't.

He couldn't leave him because of this irrational feeling he had, that he just needed to protect him.

But what the actual fuck could he do to protect a werewolf? He was a skinny little shit with no particular abilities. He wasn't a tech mastermind. He wasn't a psychic, he wasn't a scholar.

He was nothing but a hundred and thirty pounds of walking paranoia.

Yet he couldn't leave. All he could do was stand there and help any way he could. Which he did, several times, in several different ways, falling through the cracks; and it hurt, not because he did it for recognition, but because he knew it wasn't enough to make a difference.

“I'm such a freak, Stiles. Allison will see right through me someday and she'll know she can't love me.” Scott would tell him late at night, kicked puppy look on his face.

And what could he possibly do to assist with that?

I won't leave. I'll never leave. Even if it kills me.

“She'll still love you, dude. She loves you now and that won't change just because you're weird. You've always been weird, even before you got 'wolfenized'. She'll learn to love all that mess too.” Stiles finished, pointing to Scott's whole body, a fake disgust look on his face. “I mean, I did, and it's common knowledge I have learning disabilities.”

Scott laughed, punching him in the arm, while they both lied in Scott's bed, doing nothing for the next half hour.

But it wasn't the same. It would never be again.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Stiles wanted it bad. And that's what really messes you up when you're fighting against your own mind, isn't it?

He lived under a shadow for most of his adolescence. It didn't keep him from doing the stuff he had to do, nor it kept him awake at night, thinking about the way things could turn out.

It was the kind of shadow that takes over you at two p.m., or on a Saturday morning, or during lunch, in the middle of a completely carefree conversation. He'd drift off, and it wouldn't be anything unusual, blame it on his ADD.

He'd worry. He'd worry for a total of twenty seconds at a time. He'd look around, uncertain of the reality of things. He feared that, in ten years, during one of these lapses, he was going to look around and not know if the autumn leaves paving the streets were real.

“Hey, Scott, did you know that you can tell whether or not you have a sick tree by observing if it will change colour earlier than other trees of the same species?”

“Where did you learn that from?” Scott would bark out a laugh, while slamming his controller. Game Night for Scott was also Useless Trivia Night. He couldn't even begin to list the amount of random information Stiles would pour on him in the middle of a game. He thought it to be fascinating, actually.

“I don't know. CottageLife.com, probably.”

“What the hell were you doing on CottageLife.com?”

“Searching for curious facts about leaves, what else?”

Scott would then say “Oh.” and accept it, suddenly wondering about the trees in his backyard for the next ten minutes.

That gave Stiles a sense of comfort he would never be able to explain to any therapist, psychologist or psychiatrist his father ever took him after his mom died.

Scott's acceptance was enough to control his sudden flushes of panic; it gave him a sense of substantiality like nothing else did. If Scott wasn't the one by his side when these episodes happened, then his random remarks would turn unbelievably more caustic, to which he knew he was gonna receive an eye roll or a hint of scorn in return, at best.

If the people he cared about thought he was sarcastic, well, they hadn't seen the half of it.

So yeah, he'd occasionally push people's buttons to the point of it directly affecting his well-being (cut to numerous individuals shoving him against walls), but he just couldn't help it. His babbling was what kept him sane.

Even if that sounded crazy.

However, when he needed that literal reality check, that confirmation that things were still relatively okay with his head, Scott was the one who made him feel safest. Even before he became an Alpha and all. In the grand scheme of Stiles' deep dark fearful scenarios things, those were details. Of course, now it kinda had become the center of everyone's lives (everyone who had some kind of contact with Scott, that is) and they often had to literally fight for their lives and stuff. Yeah, ok, so the werewolf business had probably coverted itself into more than a little detail, but the only difference it actually made in the way Stiles dealt and felt with the possibility of his inherited illness was that it made him more cautious about how much he was going to let his worries interfere in his best friend's life.

Then the exams happened.

And Stiles was really scared.

It wasn't the fear of death that touched his soul, though. Not even the fear of pain itself. It was the fear of forgetting. He couldn't visualize a life in which he wouldn't remember who his father was, in which he would have difficulty finding the words to express himself, doing normal tasks, keeping his sense of direction, in which he would become more and more apathic.

In which he couldn't make Scott laugh anymore.

That night after coming back from the hospital, Scott followed him to his bedroom, sitting in bed beside him.

“You didn't have to accompany home, you know.” Stiles told him, attempting a smile. “I'm not an invalid yet.”

“And you won't be, Stiles. Don't talk like that!” Scott seemed really frightened, and it made Stiles feel like shit.

“But if I come to be one… you have to promise me we're watching Star Wars together before I'm unable to course you through the whole George Lucas universe.”

This time Scott just took a deep breath as if Stiles had just stabbed him, and hugged him for the second time that day without warning. Stiles tried to hold back his tears again, focusing on Scott's smell as he leaned against his neck, closing his eyes. He wanted to breathe him in till Scott's scent was so ingrained in him it'd take him more than just a genetic disease to make him forget.

“I told you I'll do something about it.” Scott held him tight, talking in a low, raspy voice, as if to himself more than anything.

Stiles didn't want to ask, but he just couldn't stop his big mouth, which was still functioning perfectly. Plus, he needed to know Scott's backup plan, because the boy was just awful at backup plans and he didn't want him to get hurt.

“What exactly are you gonna do, Scott?” Stiles broke the hug, only to find out, to his surprise, that Scott's eyes were red and watery.

“I'll turn you, if I have to. If it's the only way.”

Stiles had never heard Scott sound that resolute about anything in his life, and it shocked him more than the statement itself.

“You know that's a terrible idea and I can't let you do that.”

“I'll do it, Stiles. Without a second's doubt.”

And that moved him, more than scared him. He would never let Scott go along with that, of course. He knew that would traumatize his best friend for life. Cursing another human being like that, with the change and the responsability of always having to watch out for yourself and others and balance self-control with rabid anger every day of his life.

Still, it made him feel somehow peaceful, knowing that if Scott was willing to go that far for him, he could rest assure he would be there through thick and thin, and that was what mattered to Stiles most at that moment.

Enough to make him even toy with the idea of becoming a werewolf.

He grinned, trying to ease the mood that had darken the atmosphere that whole day.

“So… are you saying you're gonna bite me, like a total perv?”

Scott windened his eyes for a second, before giving him a crooked mischiveous smile.

“Yeah, you're damn right I'll bite you. At least you'll stop complaining you never get any action.”

“Oh yeah? And where will you bite me? Will you bite my neck?”

“Those are vampires, Stiles.” Scott said, sounding mildly offended. Stiles just couldn't resist it.

“So can I at least pick the place you'll bite me?”

“I don't see why not.” Scott was trying hard not to giggle, keeping a sympathizing look on his face.

“Could you bite me between my toes?” Stiles suddenly lay back on his bed, raising a leg and poking Scott's face with his foot. “I think that would be totally sexy.”

Scott laughed out loud, slapping his foot away.

“You're so gross!”

“What? You said you would do anything.”

“I didn't say 'anything'. I said 'something'.”

Stiles laughed earnestly for the first time in months. He hadn't had time to think about how much he missed spending time with Scott, with all the life-threatening situations happening around them. Even though they saw each other almost every day, he found himself realizing they hardly ever had moments like these anymore.

“Alright. How about here? Is this a good neutral place for some biting? I mean, I don't want to make it easy for you or anything.” He asked, showing Scott his pointy elbow. Scott rolled his eyes.

“You know what? I'll just bite your neck right now!” He answered, throwing himself all over Stiles, making him almost fall off bed. Stiles didn't even have time to grasp what was happening when he felt sharp teeth on his neck, biting softly.

He felt a shiver of surprise through his spine and had to swallow a groan as he started kicking Scott playfully.

“Help! Help! I'm being attacked by an adolescent werewolf who has no idea what he's doing! I don't want to be a teen werewolf forever!”

Scott pulled his head back, facing Stiles while still holding him in place.

“Dude, you're thinking vampires again.”

Stiles chuckled, feeling strangely warm and relaxed. It was such a rare feeling for him it made him a little confused. He just wanted that sensation to linger on forever.

“But seriously, though.” Scott continued, leaning towards him again, till their foreheads touched, making Stiles close his eyes, the billions thoughts that had been going through his mind that whole week making place for one fleeting moment of peace.

“I'll find a way.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles wanted it bad. And that either works out eventually or changes you completely.

Even after all was said and done, it still felt like nothing was either said nor done. So many things had happened, so many people had come and gone, yet Stiles remained.

There, but not the same. Always there, but not always acknowledged. Growing more and more suspicious of everyone and everything. But now he knew that wasn't his regular paranoia. Now he knew it was the cirscumstances, the _thing_ they had become. He wasn't even able to name it anymore. Partnership, complicity, doubt.

He couldn't bear to see Scott drifting away towards danger and points of no return. And, God, he had tried so hard to focus on other people, who he knew cared about him just the way he needed to be cared about. And he wasn't gonna lie, he _really_ needed it. And he had tried so hard to make things work with them.

But all Scott had to do was whistle, and all the rest was empty; everyone else was just… everyone else. And he knew that wasn't fair. To anyone. But it still controlled his every action.

“Why can't you trust anyone?” Scott had asked him, almost child-like.

“Because you trust everyone!” He had shouted back, feeling nauseated. “You trust everyone...” He had kept on whispering to himself. “Everyone, but me.”

And he wanted to keep on shouting he was the only one who'd never quit him, whose very soul belonged to him in a way not even demons nor hunters could touch.

That would have sounded ridiculous, of course, so Stiles just slammed his fist on the hood of his jeep, taking all of his frustration out on a piece of metal. And when Scott took his hand patiently and knowingly to absorb the pain, all Stiles could do was let him, hoping, on the very back of his mind, that his friend could also feel, along with his resentment, his want and longing.

But Scott had his head filled with other things, as usual.

Sometimes, before falling asleep, Stiles would think about the times Scott had taken his pain. He wondered if the physical pain of others was all he felt when he did that. He'd evaluate the possibility of Scott noticing something else during those moments. He couldn't accept the thought that his best friend in the whole world was clueless about what was happening to him. That just couldn't be.

He _must_ have known how much Stiles craved those little touches, how satisfying that was to him. Not just because his pain was being taken, but because something was being given at the same time. And it was the saddest thing to realize that lately those were the only occasions when he could experience some kind of emotion from Scott. Not that Scott was acting detached, or anything like that. In fact, he was the embodiment of empathy, but that was hardly ever directed to Stiles anymore.

“Hey, Scott, when you like… do your healing thing, what do you feel exactly?” Stiles had asked him one afternoon on their way home from school.

“What do you mean? Like do I feel pain?”

“Yeah, I mean, I know you feel the pain of whoever you're touching, but… what else do you feel?”

Scott looked at him, unsure of what he meant.

“I guess it depends, like… on how close that person is to me.”

“Yeah?” Stiles tried to focus his attention on the road, making an effort not to sound too eager to hear more about it. “I didn't know that made a difference.”

“Well, it doesn't make a lot of difference. It's just that… if I care about them, it kinda feels like whatever emotion they might be feeling along with the pain, sorta, I don't know, passes on to me for a second or so… It's hard to explain.”

“Ok, but, for example, if they're sad or whatever, can you pick up on that?” Stiles suggested, not wanting to drop the subject.

“Huh, I guess, yeah.”

“Can you notice if they're excited?”

“People are never excited when they're in pain, Stiles.” Scott frowned, and Stiles pretended not to feel his gaze.

“I know that. What I mean is, can you tell if someone is… wired?”

Scott grinned.

“You mean like pumped on Aderall wired? Because I can totally feel that.”

Stiles lost his hold on the wheel for a second, making the jeep get slightly off track.

“I don't… can you, really? I… I don't even do it that often anymore!”

Scott shook his head, smiling.

“Yeah, I know. I noticed.”

Stiles looked back at him and forward, taken by surprise. How many times exactly had Scott taken his pain through the years? And how many times had he observed him silently? What didn't he know? What _did_ he know?

Stiles kept driving, pondering on those things, suddenly not sure himself he wanted to keep talking about it.

But now Scott seemed invested in it.

“Why are you asking me this stuff only now?”

“What? You wanted me to ask you earlier?”

“No, I just thought you had a point.”

“Nah. I don't always have a point.” Stiles answered, making a face. “I mean, I mostly do, but I usually forget what that is half way into the conversation.”

Scott breathed out a laugh.

“Are you just saying that to have an excuse to go back to the meds?”

Stiles scowled.

“Me? Making use of argumentative tricks to get what I want? Frankly, I am appalled at your assumption.”  
“Can I ask you something, then?”

“Fine, go ahead.” Stiles sighed, feeling a bit frustrated. He couldn't even manage to be slightly upset with Scott for five seconds!

“Have you ever felt...” Scott moved in his seat to face Stiles, but stopped mid-sentence when he realized they were already on his street. “… forget it, it's stupid.”

“What?” Stiles kept on driving, till they reached Scott's house. He pulled the handbrake and looked at him attentively. “What is it? Come on, Scott, I suffer from anxiety. You can't do this to me.”

Scott bit his upper lip, avoiding Stiles' stare. Then he took a deep breath, as if it were painful to him.

“Sometimes when I touch you...” He started, and Stiles was already gaping at that, wide-eyes making him look a bit crazy when Scott realized Stiles had misunderstood him “Like this!” Scott hurried to hold his hand and make himself a bit more clear. “When I'm… you know… healing you. There's this strange... sensation.”

“Strange how?” Stiles continued to gape, standing still like a statue as Scott continued to hold his hand as if he'd forgotten to let it go.

“Like I can feel what's gonna happen. Not like predicting the future or anything, but… I kinda know how we're gonna end somehow.”

“Scott, now you're beginning to scare the shit out of me. Just tell me what the hell you're talking about.”

Stiles felt his best friend turn his hand up till he was facing his palm, and Scott started tracing its lines with his thumb until he reached the veins on his wrist. Stiles' breath went heavy.

“Sometimes when I do this...” he said, keeping the movement soft but firm, a melancholy tone to his voice “...my senses, or something like that, I don't know, they tell me everyone will eventually leave, and it'll be just the two of us. How weird is that?”

Stiles swallowed, trying to control his breathing, staring at his own hand like it didn't belong to him. He wanted to say it wasn't weird at all, that he had had the same confusing thoughts and insecurities, that there was nothing wong with wanting to be sure, at least once in your life, about the future. But mostly, what he wanted to tell Scott was that every single time he touched him like that, the only thing going through his mind was how freaking badly he wanted to kiss him.

And when that thought hit him once again, he parted his lips, fully aware of how needy he must be looking as he faced Scott, realizing he was being carefully observed.

He removed his hand from Scott's grip, awkwardly, shifiting on his seat.

“Ahn…yeah, it's very weird. Do you… ahn... think someone will betray you?”

Scott looked a bit distressed by Stiles' gesture, but still smiled.

“Well, at least I know it'll never be you.”

Stiles felt so frustrated he wanted to die.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The most important thing. What was it again? Playing videogames till late at night? Chasing ghosts out in the woods? Finding out your worth?

The moment Stiles started questioning these things again was the moment he knew he'd lost it all. He just couldn't keep on trying to survive this hologram of a life for much longer, this absurd reality where the monsters inside you are let loose and there's just nothing you can do about it.

Not a damn thing.

“Do you remember the way it was before all that? You and me? We were nothing.”

The memory of Scott saying those words still hurt him. Because it was never 'nothing' to Stiles. It was always 'everything'.

But now… now it felt like they were getting closer and closer to 'nothing', one mistrust at a time.

The rain was pouring that night like it hadn't in a while. All Stiles wanted was to get to Scott. He drove carelessly, barely seeing what lay ahead. So many secrets. He just needed to get to him. Then everything would be manageable again. Like in the old times. They could work things out. It could maybe, just maybe, not be the end of the world. Even if the pain in his chest told him there was no fixing this. It was too late for them.

“Please, just be glad to see me, Scott.”

That's all he wanted. A moment's rest. Then Scott showed him the wrench.

And it felt like an ancient demon had clutched his heart and held it tight till there was no air left. Like the very essence of who he was was being sucked out of him. He knew the feeling. Of course he did. He'd been there. What was really frightening, though, was the awareness that there was no demon now. It was just him, alone with the weight of being human.

 “ _Thank you, Mr. McCall. Well done.” Mrs. Jones had told Scott that afternoon after his presentation. She turned her glare to Stiles. “Mr. Stilinski could learn a couple of things from you, since you spend so much time together.”_

_Scott had ducked his head, feeling unbelievably embarrassed. Stiles just smiled, genuinely happy. He was so lucky. Scott was his friend. His best friend. The best of friends. And in his eleven-year-old mind, Scott was the best at everything. Maybe not Call of Duty. But definitely all the rest._

 “Where did you get that?” Stiles had asked him, the rain already soaking him wet. The questioning look on Scott's face making him feel so small he had the sudden urge to disappear, to vanish forever in the darkness of that night, just so he wouldn't have to witness what came next.

 “ _You're the teacher's pet now.” Stiles had whispered in his ear, bumping their shoulders cheerfully when they heard the bell._

“ _Shut up.” Scott was smiling shyly. “You presentation was way cooler.”_

“ _I thought so, too.” Stiles grinned, as they gathered their materials. “But you're much more of a crowd pleaser. Maybe you can become president someday.”_

“ _Yeah, right. As if I could ever lead anyone to anything. Who would believe anything I had to say?”_

 “Why didn't you tell me, Stiles?” Scott was just as soaked, his voice sounding coarse and strange, almost inaudible. But there was also suffering there, pain buried in disappointment. A crushing combo. How can you not listen when a wolf howls? How can you pretend not to listen?

It resonated with Stiles' body in a super human volume. That grief-stricken question, but almost a whisper. And all he'd gone through so far hadn't nearly been as harsh.

It broke his heart.

“Please, believe me. Say you believe me, Scott.”

 “ _I'd believe you!” Stiles shouted as they walked down the school hall. “I'd totally vote for you, dude! I don't think you could ever tell a lie. Well, not a big one, anyway.”_

_Scott scoffed. “Like you could!”_

“ _I would, if I had to.”_

“ _Maybe you could be my bodyguard when I'm president.”_

_Stiles' eyes glowed at the idea._

“ _Hell yeah! I'd wear one of those cool suits, and take bullets for you.”_

“ _You'd take a bullet for me?” Scott asked, in a surprised tone._

“ _Sure. And I'd lie for you, too. So you didn't have to.”_

 And now there they were. Nothing left but resentment under heavy storm.

When Scott was bitten, all Stiles thought about was how freaking incredible it was to see him evolve into something even better right before his eyes. Stiles relished in the thought that maybe now Scott would believe he could do anything, and become everything he always thought he wasn't good enough for.

Instead, now Scott doubted himself, and doubted him. And in this never-ending well of doubt, cracking under the rain, Stiles doubted he could ever again look at his best friend and feel the affection he once did.

“ _Hey, Scott, earlier today, when you told me about Allison, and I said that, was it weird?”_

“ _Said what?”_

“ _You know, when I asked you if you wanted to make out to see what was like.”_

_Scott laughed._

“ _Oh… that. It was not even close to being one of the top a hundred weirdest things you have asked me. So, yeah… not weird.”_

“ _But you still didn't answer me.”_

“ _What do you mean?”_

“ _Do you want to?”_

“ _Are you serious?” Scott's face had reddened._

“ _Yeah, I'm serious! Why do you always believe me when I'm goofing around but never believe me when I'm being serious?”_

“ _Ahn... because I usually can't tell the difference?”_

“ _Well, I'm being serious now. Sort of. I mean, this isn't a life and death situation we're talking about here. I just wanted to know… you know...” Stiles shrugged, looking down, moving awkwardly from one feet to the other, holding his backpack strap on his shoulder. “If you don't want to, I mean, it's totally fine, it's not like someone will die or anything.”_

_Scott thought about it for a few seconds, as they walked towards the parking lot._

“ _You just want to do it to see what's like or...”_

“ _Just to see what it's like!” Stiles practically shouted at his face, feeling a gush of panic go through his body._

_What he was actually thinking was “I want to kiss you always. To see what it's like every single time.”, but his pounding heart suffocated his words._

_Scott reddened even deeper at the frantic response._

“ _Yeah, I… ok.” Stiles thought he saw a glimpse of a smile, but it could be just his wishful thinking. “I wanna see what's like.”_

It's like this, Stiles thought as the raindrops washed away the tears on his face. He took the wrench from Scott's hand, trembling. It's me never mesuring up to you. It's me making mistakes you would never make, it's me naively telling myself none of this matters. Because you're my best friend and I love you.

Stiles let out a painful breath, which he didn't even know he was holding.

“What do I do about this? What do you want me to do, Scott? Just tell me how to fix this.”

There was no answer. And the worst part was to see the pain in Scott's eyes, and to know he was the one responsible for putting it there.

Would he ever make Scott laugh again? Would Scott ever believe the only thing Stiles ever wanted was to be by his side till the end? Even if their feelings toward one another had changed through the years. Even if there wasn't much left from the times of videogames and french fries.

Stiles wanted it bad. To be there for Scott. Always.

Even if now there was just rain between them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. Please let me know if you spot any mistakes. Thanks! : )


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